


Self-Prophecy

by magickalmolly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickalmolly/pseuds/magickalmolly
Summary: Lies. It had all been nothing more than a long, complicated string of lies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written July 17, 2007. This was written for the [leave the crucio to those who really care](http://circe-tigana.livejournal.com/871417.html) meme. This was before Deathly Hollows was published. The idea was to kill off your favorite character(s) before JK Rowling had a chance to do it for you. We were all a little bitter over Hedwig.

Lies. It had all been nothing more than a long, complicated string of lies. And now Harry was somewhere he hadn't been just a moment before, dizzy and bleeding heavily from the gash in his side. He was also defenseless; his eyes fell to his wand that had somehow Apparated with him, and saw to his horror that it had been broken. The wood lay smoking and splintered, the pieces scattered across the floor. 

Hot tears rose unbidden to Harry's eyes as he looked around through his cracked glasses. He scanned the empty, dimly lit room, desperate to find anything to help. But there was nothing. There was nothing here that could help him. Nothing and no one. Harry had been Apparated here alone.

Ron was long since gone, having been dragged off by Greyback all those weeks ago. Harry prayed Lupin had found him, but he was doubtful. Hermione, who had discovered the truth about the prophecy, was now in St. Mungo's, suffering from the effects of a Cruciatus Curse.

And Ginny. Ginny had been gone longer than all of them, and an anguished sob escaped Harry at the thought of where she was now, locked away in Azkaban. But she had turned from lover to traitor, and as Harry tried to crawl across the filthy floor, he ignored the lingering ache in his shoulder where her hex had hit him.

Snape should have been here with Harry, but was gone as well. The last thing Harry'd heard before the familiar flash and pull was his scream, and Harry feared the worst. 

Pain, betrayal, and not a little bit of panic rose in Harry's throat, but he choked the sensations back as best he could. They'd all lied to him; the Order, Dumbledore, _everyone_ , and now it had come to this. Alone in this tiny shack that Harry dimly recognized as the childhood home of Voldemort's mother. Harry was the only one now, and he had to deal with it.

There was a brilliant flash of emerald light, and the front door exploded, tiny shards of wood blowing away like so much dust. Harry, still half-sprawled on the floor, gripped more tightly at the sticky mess of his side with one hand, the other raised to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But he didn't need to see who the silhouetted figure was; he knew.

Not waiting for Voldemort to speak, Harry rose on shaky legs, swayed dangerously, but did not fall. He braced his free hand on the grimy counter before him. The ancient kitchen items scattered there – a rusted saucepan, a bread knife, two spoons, and a broken teacup – were almost indistinguishable from all the dirt and cobwebs that covered them. Harry's eyes glanced down for only a moment, mind working, before he looked up again.

"We come to it at last, Harry." Voldermort began to slowly advance on Harry, his midnight robes softly billowing around him, his voice a hissing caress. "I've wasted too much time with you. Too many years when I should have killed you. Too many years when I expected others to do it for me. But..." and Voldormort's ugly skull-like mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "I suppose that was for the best. You must know by now that if anyone else had killed you, the prophecy would have been broken."

Harry did know. He knew that only he could be the one to kill Voldermort; only that would put an end to his evil tirade. And only Harry's death at Voldermort's own hand could bring forth his success. Harry was the seventh horcrux, and if Voldermort wished to reclaim the last part of his soul it, he had to take it from Harry himself. Killing Harry was the only way to retrieve it. But if Harry wanted to be free of the part of the Dark Lord locked away inside of him, then he had to kill Voldermort instead. 

The armies and the Order and seven years of lessons and the war had meant nothing. All that was left was this.

_...either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..._

All the time Harry had spent at Hogwarts, all of the time he'd spent at the Dursley's – the impenetratreable fortress disguised as a school, and the unwelcoming home that had been charmed for his protection – they had been there to keep Harry alive. But not for Harry's sake. No. It had all been for the sake of keeping Voldermort from returning to full power. Dumbledore, the Weasley's, even Sirius... none of them had ever really cared about Harry. Harry knew that now as well.

Harry had only been a pawn to them all, and he had had enough. Harry was done.

Slowly, so as not to pull Voldermort's notice, Harry's hand slid across the counter. He knew what he must do. He welcomed it, in fact, and a soft, strange sort of calm settled over him that he hadn't felt ever in his life. For once, Harry was completely at peace. 

Unaware of Harry's thoughts, Voldermort continued to walk closer to Harry, red eyes gleaming and his wand raised, a look of slowly building euphoria on his snakish face. "My only regret, Harry Potter, is that you will not be here to see me in my full glory. After all these years, it seems a shame that you should miss it."

"Yeah," Harry replied, and it was his turn to smile. The smile did not reach Harry's eyes, nothing like his mother's in this moment, as they had gone blank. "It's too bad you'll miss it, too."

Voldermort blinked at this, momentarily caught off-guard, and before the Dark Lord could stop him, Harry's hand closed around the knife on the counter. He brought it to his own throat.

"Good bye, Tom," Harry grin was feral, and as he slid the blade deep into his flesh, the last thing Harry saw was Voldermort's look of surprise, covered with a crimson splatter of blood. 

~fin~


End file.
